Multi-grain hoops

by Luke Otley

By afternoon my multi-grain hoops
look at me with hurt feelings
swollen as braggarts
the milk sour
undrinkable
and useless.

In impotence I leave the bowl
on the counter
without even the dignity
of a proper burial
they could be there for days
sweating and freezing with the seasons
dreaming of their foil womb
their dry days
from whence they came.